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It started quite a while back.
Sudden. Unexpected. Like a lightning bolt scarring midnight skies.
But also soothing. Caressing. Like warm waves washing over your toes, your ankles.
Definitely strong, though. Like a shove to the chest.
The feeling spurred on all kinds of actions. Keith had found himself picking up battered books about chickens and foxes, about five kids adventuring mysterious islands and whatever else authors write about to stretch an eight-year old’s imagination. He found himself revisiting old songs that reminded him of his early crushes and young, idealistic love. Watched movies that had always sent him into fits of laughter.
That’s how strong it had been. It had moved his hands, his hips.
And currently? It’s moving his feet.
As if in a trance, Keith walks towards the wooden doors of a dusty café that had settled in a side street near his old university years ago (where the words ‘Garrison’s Galaxy Guardians Reunite!’ are spelled out on a battered up black board). The sight of the sign, words chalked up in cursive white writing, clicks something in Keith’s brain. Realisation floods over him as quickly as the shot of anxiety that pulses through his every nerve, sobering him up after days of drowning in that intense feeling. That sickly sweet haze that had sent his head swirling, controlling his actions and ultimately made him RSVP the invite for the Garrison’s Gamer club reunion, is now all gone. Panic and embarrassment take its place comfortably – like an old couple settling down onto their equally old couch – and Keith turns on his heels so fast he feels a dizzy.
“You! You said you weren’t coming!” Keith nearly jumps out of his skin at the shrill and accusing voice that pierces through the crisp October air. Before he can even see who is yelling at him (although he already knows who it is), a pair of small yet strong hands latch onto his shoulders like falcon’s claws sinking into its prey. A yelp escapes his lips as he is yanked backwards and reeled towards the building, stumbling awkwardly due to the height difference between him and his captor. Keith attempts to face her, but she is already pushing him passed peeling doors into a dimly lit interior. It takes a few moments for the disorientation to subside, but when it does, Keith looks down to see a smug (and slightly tipsy) Pidge beaming up at him. She jumps to hug him properly, Keith laughing and reciprocating her firm gesture. “You were gonna walk away, weren’t you?" she remarks loudly, faking a scowl and poking him firmly in the chest.
“Maybe.” Keith lets the corner of his mouth tug into a smirk. Pidge’s eyes roll in response before she drags him towards the bar.
“That’s quite cruel, isn’t it?” she continues, “telling me you weren’t gonna be here, and then appearing like a ghost to haunt me!” Another assault is made against his chest, which throws him off kilter and he nearly falls over the stool he was aiming for. The sight of the martial arts pro stumbling over a three-legged piece of wood sends Pidge into a fit of giggles as Keith tries a second time to sit down.
As Pidge catches her breath, Keith’s eyes survey the room. It’s a gaming café. The walls are lined with thick oak shelves, hand crafted to follow the odd curves and corners of the room, each packed with any board game imaginable. And where there isn’t a shelf, there is a screen. Every one is hooked up to a different console, with games that were once stacked in a neat column beside it now scattered on the floor, the culprits of the mess most definitely the surrounding groups of people in their mid-twenties, crowding around and chanting at their players. Keith chuckles at the sight. This is one way to feel young again. When his gaze returns to Pidge, he sees she is pouting. “I missed you, idiot.”
“I literally saw you last month.”
“Stop ruining the moment, Keith.” Pidge deadpans, but Keith only raises an eyebrow and laughs, ruffling her wild hair. She makes a disgruntled sound before hollering at the bartender to get them both a drink before they die of thirst.
The café is filled with chatter and title screen music. Sound effects of shooter games and cars drifting ricochet off the walls and Keith is pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t feel overwhelmed by all the noise. He soaks in the atmosphere, contently listening to stories of familiar faces and studying each one to see if a couple of years is long enough to make any noticeable changes. He concludes that it does.
That feeling is still so strong. It continues to move him. It moves his head, his lips.
Yet despite all the moving it has been doing, the most inconvenient thing it does is on the opposite side of the spectrum of what Keith is expecting.
It stops. It stops Keith’s eyes.
Stops them on a particular face in that dusty café. One that Keith isn’t too sure he wants to see.
Still, that feeling makes him scan those features what feels like a thousand times over and zone out of the conversation circling around him. It’s an accident. He didn’t purposefully seek out the brunette. But as soon as his gaze clumsily stumbled onto him (almost like Keith had done on the first day of class), it was transfixed.
Lance looks the same as he had those years ago. His hair is a little longer, which only makes it look even more curly and soft. He still looks good, Keith notes (berates himself as soon as he does). Way too good for someone Keith has definitely gotten over. Lance moves in the same way too - casual, care-free, misleadingly open. The thought makes Keith's head spin as flashes of small secrets rebound around his brain. Snippets of information that mean simultaneously everything and nothing at all. It shakes him a little, and he comes back to his senses. He should probably stop staring. Did Pidge just say something? How long has been staring at Lance?
Too long, apparently. Keith only realises his mistake when a pair of electric blue eyes flick up to meet his, the owner most likely sensing a gaze lingering on them. Keith panics at being caught, but he finds he can’t tear his eyes away. And he can’t breathe either. Is this what it feels like to be electrocuted? The incredible surge of energy ripping through your body, burning every nerve into a pitiful crisp? Not being to tear yourself from the source? Letting yourself burn up, and up, and up-
Butterflies Keith didn’t know he had break free and swarm around his stomach. He feels his chest cave in too, as if to prevent them from escaping and surging out all over the worn floor.
And that’s all before Lance strolls over to him.
So nonchalantly, whiles Keith is bursting at the seams, perched on his stool.
“Good luck!” comes a fleeting whisper from where Pidge had been sitting. He turns to see that the crowd of peers that were once surrounding him has disappeared, relocating by the pool table (and it definitely isn’t the game of pool they are interested in). Around six thumbs-up and two fists thrust into the thick air, all accompanied by encouraging smiles.
Keith scowls in their direction before swivelling back around in annoyance. In accordance with Keith's bad luck, he turns too quickly and consequently nearly falls off his stool, letting out an embarrassing squeak as firm hands swiftly grab his arms to help him regain his balance.
How’d he get here so quickly?
“T-thanks,” Keith stutters, caught off guard by how close Lance is standing over him, and at the hands that are lingering on his arms and that are making his skin tingle and oh God no-
“No problem.” Lance chuckles, removing his hands. Although Keith has regained some of his personal space, his pulse still spikes, the air hitching in his throat. He’s starting to realise just how long it’s been since he heard Lance’s warm voice. His smooth laugh. Does he miss it? That feeling says so.
Regardless of the constant chatter that fills the café wall to wall, an awkward silence settles between the two. Keith’s eyes fall to his lap where his fingers have subconsciously started fiddling. Lance’s go to the back of his neck, rubbing it in heavy thought.
“It’s been a while.” the words blunder out.
“Yeah.” Keith offers weakly, daring to look up at him. Mistake. His gaze pierces through him, attempting to puncture through layers Keith hadn’t let him peel back even while at university. Nice to know he’s still so persistent.
“You know-”
“Lance.” Keith interjects.
“Yeah?” Keith is sure he can hear hopefulness weaved within those four letters. Distracted by the thought, Keith doesn’t reply, and they are left in another weighty silence. It seems to have thrown Lance, the conversation not going where he expected it to (since the conversation isn’t going at all). Unlike Keith, he is constantly bubbly and brimming with words. He’s one of those people who will talk to strangers on the train and learn their whole life story. But this? This is just awkward. Keith sinks further into himself, eyes returning to his lap. After a few moments, Lance must register the discomfort the seated man is feeling, and kicks back into gear with a flurry of small talk and a handful of harmful jokes. Keith relaxes, and after a while, it seems that the pair reach a level of comfort which feels deceptively like how it used to be back in the day, but then-
“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” Lance starts. The line is meant to be causal but falls much heavier than their previous pleasantry.
“Neither did Pidge.” Keith smiles, trying to shrug it off and release some of the building pressure.
“I didn’t think I’d even talk to you, actually,” comes a flustered chuckle, “or really, that you’d talk to me.” Keith feels himself stiffen as Lance continues to load said pressure back on.
It's true; Keith hadn't planned on speaking to Lance tonight, was going to avoid him at all costs. Their history - where they left off, hanging off whatever cliff they were heading down - is not something Keith likes revisiting willing. The catastrophe (let him be dramatic, okay) left him too affected and frustrated and vulnerable- all the things Keith has never been fond of feeling. With each analysis his brain conducts on the whole situation, Keith feels more and more like he had felt too much, that he had felt more than Lance ever had, and it makes him want to bury himself six feet underground. Nevertheless, Keith thinks about the now, observes the Lance standing in front of him (who Keith hasn't noticed is shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot with a shy blush staining his cheeks) and lets a small part himself indulge in the thought that maybe Lance still thinks about it...
They were just friends. That’s all they ever were for those three years. Lance had made that clear. Had made it very clear when he flirted with other people, and when he left with them. Yet, despite that broadcast, strong and confusing feelings stirred in Keith's chest, slowly filled him up every time Lance held his gaze for too long or pulled him too close or cared a little too much. It was so overwhelming for Keith’s little heart, making his head spin. He couldn’t help himself, had no control over his mouth as he blurted out a muddled-up bunch of words that would’ve been considered incoherent if it wasn’t for the fact that he was saying it to Lance, someone who had long ago cracked the code to his chaotic thoughts and blundering sentences. So, it was damn obvious to him that Keith was practically yelling ‘I LIKE YOU’ in front of the bar their graduating class had gathered at for a last hurrah. The raven-haired boy can’t remember the rest of the night, the embarrassment too brutal and the alcohol too inviting. But he can remember Lance’s answer, which came in the form of stunned silence, and then later, him leaving with someone that wasn’t Keith.
And that’s how they hung from that cliff. Keith hadn’t spoken to him since, avoiding any contact and refusing himself (or his friends) any chance for confrontation on the matter. Keith would never admit that he spent so much time crying over that stupid idiot that wasn’t worth his time- but he did. He drained every tear he’d locked away, that he had saved for a rainy day. He felt stupid for wasting it on a situation like that, when he and Lance hadn’t even been on a single date. Honestly, crawling away and never showing his face again seemed like the best option at the time. There was so much hurt and anger and humiliation that was seeping into his bones, that hiding seemed like such an attractive concept. But then it hit him. That wasn’t Keith. A refreshing wind blew across his mind, reminding him that he had been through much worse, and that time would move on and so should he. So that night, as he was curled up on his couch with an empty carton of ice cream and Legally Blonde playing in the background, he made a promise that he'd buck up and try his best to forget about it all. He'd forget about Lance.
A cough disrupts Keith’s hurtling thoughts. “Ah, sorry- did you say something?” he blushes sheepishly.
He didn’t do a very good job.
“About that night...” Keith hates where this is going. His fight instinct kicks in and he’s raring to defend his poor heart from this topic. Bring it, Lance! Keith didn’t spend months of suppressing feelings and memories just for the one guy who caused it all to bring it back up!
“Let’s not talk about it-”
“Keith, please- just hear me out, okay?” a desperate look shadows Lance's eyes, his face screwed up in a way that leaves Keith with the strongest urge to wipe it away. Ah man, Keith can feel himself caving in. So much for putting up a fight. He can’t help it. That's unfortunately the effect Lance has on him; powerful and overwhelming and exhilarating. He looks at Lance with a wary expression as his mind continues to race with thousands of questions (and more dangerously, hopeful thoughts).
“It was a mistake,”
(mine or yours?)
“I know it’s been a while, but you haven’t left my mind,”
(have I burdened you?)
“I just-“
(please don’t say it)
“I’ve missed you,”
(oh shit)
“Keith?”
(am I suffocating?)
There’s a different silence that settles, and it’s buzzing with hope and regret and that feeling and-
They’re back to that night in June, where Keith’s haggard breaths feel so violent compared to the steady, warm lull of the breeze. The silence is so thick that he is sure it’s choking him, just like all the unwieldy words he yearns to say are, but won’t because oh god he knows he’s said too much already. The silence expects an answer. The expectancy kills.
Keith thinks about the feeling that has been controlling his thoughts and body for the past couple of months. He thinks about its force, and how weak he is to it. He really isn't as strong as he thought, because now it’s doing its work again. Keith can feel it drugging him once more, feels it seep into his blood system and intoxicate him.
And so, for nostalgia’s sake, he says
“I’ve missed you too.”